


Point Of No Return

by Luka z Rivii (wayward_dream)



Series: 500 Milestone Prompts [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Geralt is mistreated, Geraskier, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Shut Up Kiss, Stabbing, and it's very sad, butcher of blaviken, geralt attac, geralt protec, hurt!Jaskier, jaskier gets hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/Luka%20z%20Rivii
Summary: Jaskier volunteers to help Geralt with a job. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: 500 Milestone Prompts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686445
Comments: 3
Kudos: 212





	Point Of No Return

Geralt was muttering himself as he inspected the contents of his pack. Jaskier, lounging in the grass nearby and plucking his lute idly as he leaned against a tree, shifted his gaze from the clouds high above to the irritated witcher.

“Not enough,” Jaskier barely made out amidst the mumbles. He sighed.

“What’s the matter, Geralt?” he called over, strumming a chord experimentally.

“The problem is that I don’t have enough information to do this damned job,” he snapped. Jaskier knew better by now than to take it personally, so he just hummed encouragingly for Geralt to continue. “I need to know more about the town’s history before I can put the wraith to rest, but no one is willing to talk to the  _ Butcher of Blaviken,” _ he nearly spat the words, and Jaskier winced. He’d suggested skipping this job because it was so near to the infamous Blaviken that had ruined Geralt’s reputation. No matter how many songs he wrote, some people’s minds would never be changed.

“What do you need?” he asked delicately.

“Information,” Geralt grumbled, glaring at his assorted potions in his pouch. His eyes were far away, lost in thought. “Perhaps if I wait until after dark, I can break into the mayor’s house, find the records with the information I need….”

“I’ll do it,” Jaskier volunteered. Geralt’s gaze snapped to him, amber eyes narrowing to slits.

“Absolutely not,” he growled.

“Why not?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

_ Because I couldn’t bear to see you hurt because of something I asked of you,  _ he can’t force himself to stay. Instead he mutters through clenched teeth, “Because you’re not suited to this job.”

He regrets the harsh words as soon as he sees the flash of hurt in Jaskier’s eyes, but he keeps his face stony, unyielding. As they stare at each other it’s replaced with annoyance, eyes narrowing in his direction as Jaskier sits up straighter and crosses his arms.

“Why am I not suited? Unlike  _ you _ I am personable and can charm information out of people without resorting to violence,  _ and _ I am far less recognizable than you are, Mr. Famous White Wolf. Let’s face it, Geralt: you don’t exactly blend in. You need me.”

Geralt bristles. “I need  _ no one, _ ” he near-snarls. They stare each other down defiantly until something in Jaskier’s face goes soft and warm and  _ understanding  _ and Geralt can’t bear it, sliding his gaze away from the bard’s.

“I can do this,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Geralt. Let me help.” Then Jaskier’s fingers are curled around his shoulder, squeezing gently and he lifts his gaze to meet gentle, kind blue eyes and the words seem to dry up in Geralt’s throat. He swallows, exhales a harsh sigh, and nods reluctantly. 

“But I’ll be nearby,” he adds as Jaskier’s face lights up.  _ In case you need me, _ he doesn’t say, but the words hang unspoken in the air between them. Jaskier’s grin softens around the edges and Geralt’s heart squeezes in his chest.

“Of course, dear witcher. We’ll do it tonight?”

“Tonight,” Geralt agrees, hoping he won’t regret this. “Just….promise me something, Jaskier.”

“Anything, dear witcher.”

“Promise you’ll come back safe.”  _ please come back safe to me. _

**~*~*~*~**

After giving Jaskier a boost to slip through a window into the building, Geralt slipped into the shadows, pacing restlessly and keeping an ear out for trouble. Each second sliping by felt like an eternity, but as they turned into minutes slipping away and all stayed quiet, he began to hope.

Foolish.

The night was shattered by the sounding of alarms, horns blowing and the storming of feet. Then a scream rent the night and Geralt’s heart froze in his chest.

_ Jaskier, _ he thought, seeing red at the thought of Jaskier, hurt and alone beyond his reach.

It was the last coherent thought he had for a while. 

**~*~*~*~**

Jaskier was a bit insulted when the guard who had stabbed him abandoned him, joining his fellows to run for the entrance when a call to arms rose. He slid down the wall, gasping raggedly and clutching at the dagger buried in his stomach. His vision swam sickeningly and he squeezed his eyes closed.

“.....skier,” he heard as though from a great distance.  _ “Jaskier!” _ A rough hand clamped down on his arm and his eyes shot open to see Geralt, blood dripping from his sword and spattered across his face and chest, eyes wild and predatory.

“Geralt,” he muttered, voice a bit slurred. He stirred, hissing in pain as he tried to sit up. Geralt put a hand gently on his shoulder, shaking his head.

“Don’t--don’t look,” he said in a strained voice. Jaskier frowned blearily at him, and Geralt said in an unsteady voice, “There’s….a lot of bodies. You don’t need to see that,” he muttered. Jaskier heard the shame in his voice for having killed them, the building self-hatred. He scrabbled weakly until he managed to latch onto Geralt’s wrist, squeezing gently.

“Saved me,” he whispered. “Geralt, you came and saved me. Thank you.” He pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, frowning faintly at the faint imprint of blood left from his lips.

“I heard you cry out,” he muttered, dropping to his knees. “I  _ told you _ this was a bad idea, but do you ever listen--”

“Well, it certainly could have gone better,” Jaskier tried to joke, but it was ruined by a bout of coughing that made blood spatter from his mouth and drip down his chin.

“Shut up, you need to conserve your strength,” Geralt snarled at him. He tore the sleeve of his shirt off and ripped it to strips, folding it into two pads and pressing them over the wound on either side of the dagger. Jaskier cried out as he pressed down.

Geralt muttered an apology. “Sorry, but I need to apply pressure to prevent further blood loss.”

“Have you considered perhaps  _ removing the dagger that is impaling me?” _ Jaskier demanded, hating how his voice trembled, vaguely aware of warmth spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks.

Geralt shot him a scathing look. “I know more than you about treating such injuries, and removing the dagger would make it worse. Now shut the fuck up and let me take care of you.”

“But--”

He was interrupted by Geralt’s mouth on his, hot and demanding and stealing the little breath he could draw into his lungs. For all that he was mindful of Jaskier’s injuries, the kiss was still intense, claiming and hungry. It was slightly tainted by the bitter tang of coppery blood, but  _ Geralt was kissing him  _ and that was all that mattered. Jaskier was reeling when Geralt finally pulled back, eyes blazing like twin suns.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, bard,” he rumbled.

Jaskier gaped, sucking in breath. “R-right,” he wheezed, mind whirling, unable to process what had just happened.

He was forced to focus as Geralt slid his arms under him and lifted him up, sending a spike of pain through his whole body despite Geralt’s efforts to be gentle. Jaskier bit his cheek in an effort to stay silent, clutching at Geralt and squeezing his eyes closed as Geralt carries him out.

**~*~*~*~**

He must black out, because the next thing he’s aware of, they’re back at their campsite and Geralt is gently setting him down leaning his back against a log near the fire. He groans quietly and Geralt is immediately crouched over him, hands hovering uncertainly over him, as though he’s afraid to touch.

“I need to remove your shirt to inspect your wound,” he rumbles. “Is that alright?”

Jaskier’s head spins and he’s not sure it’s entirely due to blood loss. His voice is suddenly hoarse as he rasps, “Yeah, y-yeah that’s--that’s fine, Geralt.”

The shirt is stuck to him in places, sticky and clinging where the blood has dried, and Jaskier winces as Geralt peels it away. He doesn’t particularly want to see the gaping wound in his gut, so instead he focuses on Geralt’s face, trying not to feel self-conscious. He knows he has a rather trim, lithe figure, but he’s not as toned as Geralt, and he likes to eat decadently and indulge, so his stomach isn’t as flat as he knows Geralt’s is.

Geralt is surprisingly gentle as he cleans and bandages the wound, his gaze steady, touch almost reverent. He’s tender and caring, moreso than he’s ever been with him before. Jaskier’s next exhale is a trembling, weak thing, and Geralt’s eyes snap up to his.

Everything seems to go still as they gaze at each other, and Jaskier swallows hard. Goosebumps break out on his skin as amber eyes dart down to follow the moment before staring at him once more, slitted pupils dilated as they gaze at each other.

“Geralt?” Jaskier murmurs his name uncertainly, the tension almost palpable and making for a heavy atmosphere.

“Hm?”

“Are you….okay?” he asked delicately.

Geralt’s eyes fell shut. “No,” he grunted.

“What--?”

“I heard you cry out, and I thought I wasn’t going to make it to you in time,” Geralt confesses, and Jaskier feels his heart squeeze at the anguish in the Witcher’s voice.

“But you did,” he reassured.

“Barely,” Geralt argues. “And you were hurt.”

“This? Bah, this is nothing, I’ll be fine.”

He went very still as Geralt’s hand slid up the back of his neck, clutching his nape with slightly trembling fingers. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he demands in a low voice that leaves Jaskier weak in a way that has nothing to do with blood loss and everything to do with the hunger in Geralt’s eyes.

“I always knew you cared,” he dares to tease, a faint smile stretching his lips. Geralt scoffs, squeezing his nape before releasing him and leaning back.

“Don’t read too much into it,” he mutters.

Jaskier outright laughs, and it makes his stab wound throb with fresh pain but he doesn’t care, knowing Geralt must be feeling better if he’s back to his usual gruff self. He reaches out, tracing the sharp curve of his jaw with light fingers until liquid honey eyes meet his. “I understand perfectly, Geralt,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes.

There’s a long, still moment where they just stare at each other, and for once Jaskier can see the vulnerability in Geralt’s face.

Then the Witcher nods sharply and pulls back so Jaskier’s fingers fall away. He can practically see Geralt putting the walls back up, steeling himself against his emotions. But Jaskier grins anyways as Geralt turns to bank the fire.

He’s seen past that brusque exterior. Geralt let him in.

“Oh, and Geralt?” he added cheerfully, waiting until golden eyes warily met his. Then he fished around in the back pocket of his trousers, pulling out crumpled, torn parchment with a grin.

“....you got it,” Geralt said with a bit of wonder in his tone.

“Of course, what do you take me for?” Jaskier boasted, handing the parchment over. Geralt took it from him gingerly, scanning the contents.

“This is exactly what I needed,” he murmured without looking up.

“Yes, yes, I know, what  _ would _ you do without me?” Jaskier teased.

Soft eyes aglow in the reflected light of the fire met his, and Jaskier’s breath caught quietly. “I hope I never have to find out,” Geralt murmured before going back to scanning the parchment.

Watching him, Jaskier felt warm hope unfurl in his chest. Oh, he was so gone, there was no going back now. He and the Witcher were truly stuck together.

Somehow, despite the pain in his gut and the fatigue pulling at him, Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to mind that much.


End file.
